


In which Gil fails at words

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: blundering onward [19]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, if this is too saccharine just remember that I was encouraged to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: But in a good way.





	In which Gil fails at words

Gil couldn’t remember what he had come to his room to fetch. The fact that he couldn’t particularly recall the last time he had ventured into his own bedroom in Castle Heterodyne at all probably should have crossed his baffled brain, at least for a moment, but it really didn’t. He stood motionless, his eyes wide, his throat working as though to speak. His hand failed to catch the door as it closed, and the noise startled him out of his stupor. 

“Castle!”

Castle Heterodyne chuckled and made a noncommittal reply. Gil drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, then failed at not taking a shallow gulp of air afterward. The Castle found his antics most amusing. 

“Castle,  _what_  is that?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific,” Castle Heterodyne replied, though Gil could only mean the clank that stood at the center of his bedroom. 

He took a cautious step forward. 

The clank was exquisite. It stood draped in silks dyed in colorful gradients, dressed to the height of fashion. Its eyes were closed, its hands at its sides. Filigree and fine enamel work ran along the surface of the machine, no doubt as intricate as the mechanisms within. A long-ago conversation stirring in the depths of his memory, Gil glanced about as though he could give the Castle a look of breathless wonder. 

“It's… a Muse?”

Again, Castle Heterodyne laughed at him. “Oh, surely you’re not that surprised.”

Gil ran his fingertips along a section of filigree. His thoughts jumbled and collided with one another. Betrothal gift. From Tarvek. He struggled to make sense of it. Hadn’t they been joking?

_I’ve always loved you._

Right, so probably not joking, then. Gil felt heat rising in his cheeks. “Castle! How long has this thing been in here?” Muse. Dammit, Gilgamesh, just say it. 

Castle Heterodyne made a noise to indicate that it did not know. Gil called it a liar, and the Castle laughed again. Gil slammed through the door, heading for the nearest staircase. 

“Castle!  _Where is he?_ ”

Castle Heterodyne promptly dropped the ruse. “In the Green Laboratory. Would you care for a shortcut?”

Gil was yelling “NO!” even as the floor fell away beneath his feet. 

He tumbled down a sloped chute, which turned twice before it dumped him, dusty and bruised, into the exact corridor he needed. Springing to his feet, he checked the contents of his pockets before he charged onward. The Green Laboratory was impossible to miss, as someone had painted its door an obnoxious shade of orange. In fact, there was nothing the least bit green about the Green Laboratory, but no one had ever bothered to rethink the name. 

The irritating orange door slammed open before he touched it. Two pairs of eyes stared at him, and Gil skidded to a stop, suddenly winded, as though taking a punch to the diaphragm. He remembered what he had wanted from his room, and he wished he could hide the large rip in his sleeve. Instead, he stood motionless, feeling a flush creep across his cheeks. 

Agatha stood beside a complicated distillation array, her hands paused midway through fixing a round bottom flask to a clamp. Tarvek leaned against the same workbench, his pen poised above his notes. The looked perfect, like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. And Tarvek…

Oh, no. 

Gil swallowed his panic, tried to speak, failed, and tried again, with similar results. Agathas expression of surprise turned to a frown. 

“Gil? What’s wrong?”

The Castle chuckled, and annoyance shook Gil into action. He strode to the workbench and jabbed a finger at Tarvek. “You’ve been in my room.” Tarvek looked at him oddly for a moment, then started to laugh. A sharp stab of awkwardness catching him, Gil glanced between Agatha and Tarvek. “What?”

“Gil, mój скарб, it’s been  _weeks_.”

Oh. Gil felt heat rising in his cheeks again. “You should have said something,” he grumbled, looking away. 

“And spoil the surprise?” Tarvek shook his head. “I wanted you to discover her on your own. I just didn’t realize it would take you this long.” His eyes still danced with mirth, but at least he had stopped laughing. 

“Perhaps if you used your own room for more than a closet,” Castle Heterodyne said, and Gil felt rather sour about taking criticism from the architecture. Agatha shushed it, but she probably agreed. 

“Well?” Tarvek said, and Gil stared at him in blank stupidity. Tarvek waited, expectant, smiling just a little. Gil shuffled his feet. 

“Well what?”

“Gil, my Gil,” Tarvek sighed, reaching toward him with a hand that Gil automatically caught. “You must tell us whether or not you choose to accept the betrothal gift.”

Us? Gil glanced at Agatha. She had both hands pressed to her mouth, but she nodded her encouragement. But… “Why ‘us’?” And why could he never shut up and leave well enough alone?

Tarvek groaned and rolled his eyes. “You  _still_  don’t do the reading.”

“What… what reading?” Somehow, Gil felt more helplessly befuddled than ever. Had Agatha wanted him to read something?

“Local legal code. Honestly, Gil, how can you stand not knowing this stuff?”

Gil bristled. “I know what I need to,” he said, snatching his hand back from Tarvek. 

“Boys,” Agatha chided. Gil looked to her, hoping for an explanation. Instead, she stared them both down until tempers cooled, and then she nodded for Tarvek to continue. 

“You and I have been engaged for ages, but that agreement is null and void within the city limits of Mechanicsburg.” Tarvek held up a hand to stop Gil’s protests. “Because we are the Heterodyne’s consorts. Belonging to Agatha negates any other claim on either of us.”

“Obviously,” Gil said, not quite sure where this lecture would head. He knew that in Mechanicsburg, the Heterodyne’s will was law absolute. Until this moment, he had not realized he needed to know anything else. 

“So,” Tarvek continued, “before I could present you with your long-overdue betrothal gift, I had to formally petition the Heterodyne for permission to renew our engagement.”

Agatha beamed at them. “I gave my blessing, of course. Now you just have to accept.”

Gil found himself struggling for words yet again. “Of course,” he echoed. “What, exactly, am I consenting to?”

Tarvek gave him that “try to keep up” look of his that infuriated almost everyone. “Harem marriage. Legally binding only in Mechanicsburg, and only so long as the Heterodyne wills it.”

“You would belong to each other in addition to being mine,” Agatha said. 

“So… basically the same as what we have now?”

“The same as now,” Tarvek agreed with a soft smile. “Except I call you my husband.”

Husband. It surprised Gil just how much he liked the sound of it. And he only had to agree to it. 

“I love you,” he blurted instead. 

Gil had little time to berate himself for saying the wrong thing yet again, for Tarvek yanked him close and kissed him hard. Tarvek kissed his breath away, kissed him until the tension seeped from his muscles, and they clung to one another in earnest passion. Then Tarvek leaned back just enough to murmur, “Answer the question, Gil.”

“Oh.” Gil fumbled to collect his thoughts. “This harem marriage thing is really real?” How was that relevant? If Agatha wanted it to be real, then it was. 

“If you want a history lesson, you can ask Oksana about it.” Tarvek’s voice had taken on that slight edge that meant his patience faded. 

Gil made a mental note to do so later. He glanced between Agatha and Tarvek. “I…” He drew a deep breath, and he forced it out in a hasty: “I accept.”

Tarvek kissed him again, then surrendered him to Agatha, who also kissed him breathless. Eventually, they let him slump against the workbench, winded and overwhelmed, but oddly happy. Agatha turned to her distillation array again. 

“So,” Gil ventured after a moment of contented reflection, “you’ve given me the Muse of what?”

“Resolve.”

Gil felt his nose crinkle. “You might as well have said pigheadedness.”

“Didn’t I?” Tarvek grinned one of his sharp, wicked grins. 

“Remind me why I want to be married to you.” But he did. He truly did. 

Tarvek’s grin warmed to a genuine smile. His fingertips ran over the back of Gil’s hand. “Because you love me,” he said, his voice soft, almost wondering. As though he hadn’t known that already. 

“Idiot.” Gil tugged him into a tight embrace. “Of course.” 

Agatha smiled across her distillation array at them in that serene, proprietary way that meant that her consorts pleased her. Gil beamed back at her, and he didn’t mind so much that he had ripped his sleeve, fallen down a dusty chute, and repeatedly blundered all over his words, all in the space of about half an hour. Today was a good day. 

Later, he decided, he would take a closer look at the Muse of Resolve.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if that history lesson sounds interesting.


End file.
